Dissolution
by Razell
Summary: The Borg must adapt, even if that adaptation means their dissolution. The Queen is dead, and Taran must decide how the Borg will survive.
1. Chapter 1

Loss

_"All my friends are ghosts who go away,_

_Fade and disappear more with each day..."_

'All my Friends are Ghosts' Powerman 5000

Starfleet Headquarters

What was that old human saying, Admiral Sharas thought to himself, _When it rains, it pours _. . . The tall, slender Andorian had only just been briefed on the destruction of the Dominion by the Borg, when three Borg ships, a Cone and two Class 4 Tactical Cubes, were detected at the edge of Cardassian space. "It cannot be a coincidence," His voice was soft and sibilent, "First the Founders are annihilated by the Borg, and now the Borg are in Cardassian space," He rubbed the bridge of his slender nose, "It is obvious that this 'Exarch' Captain Janeway told us about is seeking vengeance for the massacre of his people." "But Borg don't care about vengeance." Admiral Paris pointed out. Ambassador Savar steepled his fingers, "He has, obviously, adapted. We have all read Taran Dibari's file, according to The Obsidian Order he was a highly unstable, borderline sociopath, and the deaths of eight hundred million of his people may have pushed him past that border." "That folder also said that he hated the Cardassian Union." Paris replied, "And Cardassian culture in general. That was why they recommended his termination." A chill ran through Sharas' veins, "According to the information sent to us by _Voyager_ , Dibari believes that asssimilation is salvation, and it seems likely that he has taken pity upon his people. He wants to save them.." Savar nodded in agreement, "To quote an ancient human proverb, '_The road to hell is paved with good intentions_.' We are dealing with a fanatic, and he no doubt intends to bring 'salvation' to his people, whether they want it or not." "And we have no power to stop him. God help him," Paris said softly, "God help them all."

The Cone

The red and orange lights flickered across the room, following the Exarch of Unimatrix One as he paced impatiently. K'erash gave the best approximation of a smile his distended, toothy jaws would allow, "It will be soon, my lord. We will reach Cardassia Prime in four hours." "They will fight, they will send every available vessel, other races will help them. Thousands will die." Taran hissed in frustration, "Why can't they just understand?! Why do they have to fight?!"

Starfleet Headquarters

"Do you think he'll go after the Breen? After all, they took part in the Massacre."

"We have no way to know, Admiral Paris, but we have warned them of possible Borg incursions, that is all that we can do." Sharas replied.

"This could be a diversion, to lure our ships away from Earth," Savar walked to the window and looked up into the night sky, "We had best advise the President to recall all ships which are closer to Earth than to Cardassia."

The Cone

Species 2000 had managed to gather a fleet of 21 vessels, including nine Galor-class warships, and it seemed every IKS and Federation vessel within sensor range was heading toward Cardassia Prime. One of them was the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. Taran shook his head, "Why? What do they care what happens to Cardassia Prime? They are enemies!" K'erash put a hand on Taran's shoulder, "There is an old human saying, _The dogs may fight amongst themselves, but they are as one against the wolf_."

If being a Borg is so wonderful, then why does every race you encounter fight so hard to prevent it? The memory came unbidden. The question gnawed at his soul.

He searched for The Queen, for reassurance, but she was preoccupied by the sudden arrival on _Voyager_ of another Katherine Janeway, something about time travel . . . He did catch a disturbing note that the Federation vessel had discovered the location of Unimatrix One and the Primary Transwarp Hub, but it was irrelevant, they couldn't possibly cause too much harm, even with two Janeways. It did remind him, however, that The Federation had been in contact with _Voyager_ for months now, they doubtless had learned a great deal about both himself and fighting the Borg.

Still hours away, Taran opened a channel to all vessels, speaking in his own reassuring voice, "Species 2000 - _Cardassians. _We mean you no harm. Do not resist, there is no need for further deaths. We seek to improve your lives and aid you in repairing the damage of the war." He would wait a little while, help them understand. Perhaps they would not resist. Surely they would understand.

Cardassia Prime

Elim Garak looked up at the sky, filled with ships of every shape and size, Cardassian, Federation, Klingon, even a Gorn vessel that had been passing by, all to fight a hopeless battle to protect Cardassia from a pitiful, deranged child capable of destroying entire worlds. He looked around at the ruins of Cardassia City, and could understand his drive to save his people. Noble, but deeply misguided. It was strange, how acts of mercy could become atrocities . . .

The fleet prepared itself. Transports were fleeing the system, carrying terrified civilians to sanctuary elsewhere. Garak would not leave, he could not bear living in exile again. He had prepared something quick, painless, probably better than he deserved. But he would wait, hold out his foolish hope to the last.

The Cone

It all happened so suddenly.

Hundreds of thousands of years, trillions of voices united in an ageless, endless song. Transcending space and time, life and death. That beautiful, beautiful song.

The song stretched taut like a bow, then snapped. Trillions of voices vanished in the wink of an eye. Those that remained screamed as one, and Taran screamed with them. He fell to the floor, suffering a seizure as the red and orange lights flashed wildly across the chamber, K'erash rushed to his side, holding his small thin form protectively. The web that was The Collective, and She who had woven it, seemed to crumble into dust.

Where is She? WHERE IS SHE?!

The Fleet

The Borg vessels stopped dead at the outer edge of the Cardassian system. Gul Macet, commander of the Cardassian fleet, was grateful for any delay on their part. He knew that even with all of the alien assistance, they could not defeat one Borg Cube, much less two Tactical Cubes. But if he could buy a few more minutes with his life, allow a few more of his people to escape assimilation, it was well worth it, and he knew everyone aboard his ship was willing to die for their people. Their homes and families, what little the Dominion War had left them, had to be preserved at all costs. But something seemed to be wrong with the Borg. The Boy's reassuring voice had stopped as abruptly as his ships, and long range scanners indicated massive fluctuations in numerous vital systems. The seemingly invincible Borg had become sitting ducks. It was as if all their computers had simultaneously crashed, leaving them paralyzed and helpless.

The Cone

She was dead. No. That was impossible, She was eternal, She was a force of nature. Unimatrix One had been destroyed, he sensed it, and the shock of experiencing the deaths of its trillions of drones had shattered the connection. That was all. It had to be.

She couldn't die. The Royal Protocol. Her consciousness would be uploaded into a new body, and She would come back, She would fill his mind once more . . .

Taran caught the transmissions from Earth even as the fleet did. _Voyager'_s return brought with it the answer to his Mistress' fate.

A dying drone aboard an exploding Sphere that had pursued _Voyager_ carried the answer. A Neurolytic Pathogen had been introduced into the very Heart of The Collective, The Queen Herself. She had been cut off from the entire Collective, Her Voice was silenced. She had been plucked from hive mind and left to die. When Her body had been destroyed, Her consciousness had been unable to escape.

She-Who-Is-All was, truly, _dead_.

Taran screamed again, holding his head, seeking to find Order. There was only Chaos. He was small and weak again, a child trying to rule a million star systems. His mind could only handle a small portion of the Collective, a few million drones out of two hundred thousand trillion Borg. Entire galaxies were suddenly cut off, thrown into Chaos, confusion. He could not imagine the deaths, the pain, the suffering that would occur.

He was glad he could not sense it.

Even aboard his own ship, there was Chaos. Some had broken away, and he could not bring them back. Tactical Drone 8 of 19, species 117, entered the control chamber with one thought, to kill the Exarch. The Hirogen's bladed servo-armature met K'erash's Bat'leth. Taran watched helplessly as the two warriors fought, blades brutally slashing, until K'erash severed the Hirogen's head from his shoulders. Taran had chosen almost all of the 5812 drones aboard personally, but a few had slipped through the cracks... And now there were over two-hundred drones aboard whose minds he couldn't see. He sealed the entrances to the chamber and ordered his loyal Tactical drones to protect vital areas of the ship.

The Cone rocked as Tactical Cube 5791 turned it's weapons on the Exarch's vessel, Tactical Cube 5792 moved between the two vessels and turned her weapons upon her sister ship. Taran was stunned, unsure of what to do, logically he had to retreat, but he still had loyal drones on both ships. Teleporters were down on the Cone. Both Cubes were taking heavy damage, and his control was slipping. "There is only one thing we can do, we must retreat until you can regain control of the situation." K'erash advised, "More than our lives depend upon your survival."

The Fleet

As his command ship, the _Trager_, drew closer to the Borg vessels, the full extent of the chaos became clear to Macet. The two Cubes were on the verge of destruction, and the Cone was badly damaged. And not a shot had been fired by Cardassia or her allies, the Borg were slaughtering each other. Gul Macet felt a twinge of pity as the Borg Cone was rocked by explosions and paralyzed by confusion. The Boy had meant well, he had sought to save Cardassia, (in his own twisted fashion), and he had avenged the deaths of eight hundred million Cardassians. But Macet was a warrior, and knew that sentimentalism could cost him the battle, even the war, to save Cardassia itself. Before he could make his decision, however, the Cone vanished into subspace even as the Cubes blasted each other into particles. Cheers erupted throughout the rag-tag fleet. The enemy had been routed without a shot fired. Only the Klingons were disappointed by this surprising twist of fortune.

Cardassia was safe, for now.

The Cone

The Cone slowly orbited a barren world, bathed in the light of a dying sun. Taran was diligently working to regain control as his drones worked to repair the damage to the Cone. With the shock somewhat abated, he now had total control of his vessel and about twelve others. He knew that it was only a matter of time, now. She had been the First. The Beginning. Now, he would be _The Last_, everything would end with his death. That was the only value his life had, now. The Borg were doomed, without The Queen's guidance, they were lost. Even now several powerful drones had begun forming their own bands, acting as warlords over mini-collectives. Most Borg had apparently cut themselves off fully from the last vestiges of Order and embraced Chaos. Anarchy reigned supreme across four quadrants. He saw only one hope for the survival of his small band, and it was highly improbable.

Diplomacy.

Surrender. Throwing himself upon the mercy of his enemies. And he knew, from long years of experience, that mercy was a rare quality indeed. His actions against the Dominion ensured that he would face a war crimes trial, but that was unimportant. He had to save both his remaining Borg and Cardassia. He still had to help ensure no more orphans would have to suffer as he had, and he knew Cardassia was almost as desperate as he was. If he could trade Borg technology for aid and protection . . . He could rebuild Cardassia using Borg technology, help the injured with Borg implants . . . On the condition that they make strict laws to protect orphans, of course . . .

He would have to do something, salvage what he could from the ashes of The Collective. There would never be another Queen, and now it was time to adapt to that reality. The Collective would be dismantled, the only question was, would it be orderly or would it be chaotic?

To Be Continued...

_Notes_:

'All my Friends are Ghosts' is available on the Powerman 5000 CD _Destroy What You Enjoy_ Copyright DRT Entertainment, used without permission. Hopefully I won't get hit with a lawsuit. I personally think it's one of their best songs, and that's saying a lot for such an awesome band.

Tuvok stated that the Borg Unicomplex contained trillions of drones in 'Dark Frontier', and the crew of the _Voyager_ destroyed the Unicomplex in 'Endgame'. What word do use to describe the killing of _trillions_ of people? Omnicide? Is there even a word for it?

Unlike other Borg vessels, the Cone has red and orange lights instead of green.

Obviously, the order to execute Taran never reached his vessel.

Gul Macet appeared in STNG, played by Marc Alaimo, who also played Gul Dukat, (they were supposed to be related), he was one of the few Cardassians to have facial hair. The episode was called "The Wounded." His ship, the _Trager_, a Galor-class warship, also appeared in that episode.

Rear Admiral Savar was one of the Starfleet officers infected by the 'Bluegill' parasitoids in STNG episode 'Conspiracy'. He has been appointed Vulcan Ambassador, for this story, obviously. Since he will play a very large role in this miniseries, I will credit the actor who portrayed him, Henry Darrow.

Admiral Paris appears on Voyager and is the father of officer Tom Paris. He was in the episode 'Endgame' the events of which are the basis for this story. When seen on screen, he was not in a room with Savar and Sharas, (I guess they were in another room!)

I made up Sharas, based on the Andorian Ambassador Shras from the TOS episode 'Journey to Babel' but the name may have been used elsewhere, I've only seen two episodes of Enterprise, which had many Andorians.

I just needed a few random, high-ranking Starfleet officers discussing the gravity of the situation. It's just a random shot, not meant to imply that they are somehow the officers 'in charge' at Starfleet. I know nothing of Starfleet hierarchy. I know that they have a president, but how much power the president has I can't say...

K'erash, as revealed in 'The Road to Hell' is a Fek'lhr. He is a loyal companion and is given an unusual level of free will by Taran.

IKS- Imperial Klingon Ship

I came up with the Species Designation for the Hirogen.

Species 117 - Hirogen

Species 2000 - Cardassian

Species 5008 - Klingon and Fek'lhr

Species 5618 - Human

Almost everything is copyright Paramount Pictures


	2. Chapter 2

Adaptations

_Nyarlathotep. . . The Crawling Chaos. . . I am the Last. . . I will tell The Audient Void._

'Nyarlathotep', H.P. Lovecraft

The Audient Void. It had always seemed a contradictory statement to Taran Dibari. Now its meaning was all-to-clear, for _he_ was_ The Last_ .

Sound without meaning, a Chorus of Chaos, void of purpose. Discordant noise. Sound and Fury, signifying nothing. The Audient Void.

He rested in his alcove, his mind searching those remnants of The Collective that he could still touch. Beyond a few ships, The Audient Void ruled supreme. Upon his death, The Song would be lost, forever. Anarchy. Entropy. Dissolution. It was almost over.

But not yet.

He had to salvage what he could. He had over three million drones under his control, and he had to protect them as The Collective faded into nothingness. They were his responsibility. His family. And he had to complete his greatest mission, there were still children suffering in the streets of Cardassia Prime. Assimilation would be counter-productive, he would simply thrust them into further chaos and suffering.

He felt so helpless, but he had not survived all that time on the streets by being weak and indecisive. He had to adapt to this reversal in circumstances. He would have to return to the old Taran Dibari, a boy determined to survive, regardless of what the universe threw at him.

A decision must be made.

The Cone left orbit and set course for Destiny.

Starfleet Headquarters

The Borg Cone had reappeared about an hour earlier, two days after the initial incursion. It was nestled quietly amongst the dust and debris in an isolated sector of the old Romulan Star Empire. "And it's just been sitting there, it hasn't made a move. Perhaps it can't." The President of the United Federation of Planets rested his head on his fists.

"We should attack now and attack hard!" Klingon Ambassador K'eshar pounded his fist in the table.

"A typical Klingon response. The ship is lightly armed, taking no offensive action and outside of our jurisdiction, protocol . . ." Ambassador Savar began.

"To Gre'thor with your protocol! If you lack the _courage_ to act, we will."

Romulan Ambassador D'nar shook her head, "The vessel is within the territory of the Romulan Star Empire. This is _our_ concern."

"What empire? Romulus is dust and ashes, you have no power . . ." K'eshar sneered.

"And you have no decency." The Andorian Ambassador turned to K'eshar. "I thought Klingons showed respect for worthy opponents who had fallen."

"Are you questioning my honor you blue-skinned worm!?" K'eshar roared.

"Thank you for your courtesy, Ambassador Keval, but I can handle fools like K'eshar myself." D'nar spoke cooly, her soft voice edged with steel.

"Please!" The President shouted, before K'eshar could reply, "Order! This is no time for petty insults!"

"This is a highly volatile situation," Cardassian Ambassador Kumar was tapping his fingers on the War Room table, "We are dealing with a mentally unstable eighteen-year old who has just had his whole existence torn away from him. We have no idea what he can or will do, we should attempt to establish a . . ."

An officer entered the War Room, a look of confusion on his face, "We have just received a message from the Borg. They wish to discuss terms of _surrender_."

K'eshar laughed.

Half an hour later, fifteen dignitaries and several officers waited in the Communications Center of Starfleet Command. The President had briefly considered calling Captain Janeway to negotiate, but decided that the woman who had just destroyed The Borg Queen would be ill received by Her Consort.

The assembled officials awaited the Borg transmission with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. As the screen activated, the leaders of over a dozen worlds finally looked into the eyes of their foe . . .

He looked utterly harmless, small, slender and very young, much the same as he had in his official military file. His handsome Cardassian features were unmarred by Borg enhancements, though as he turned his head slightly, a bundle of cables were seen protruded from the back of his skull, Neural Transponders, much smaller but otherwise almost identical to those of the Borg Queen. His exoskeletal armor resembled a bodysuit more than a Borg design, save for his right arm, which was a long, slender servo-armature bristling with medical, diagnostic and surgical equipment. Silver, squared irises in obsidian eyes betrayed little emotion. Red and orange lights flickered across the chamber, casting an eerie glow upon his features.

"I am Exarch of Unimatrix One " He said flatly, "We wish to discuss terms."

"No, _we_ will dictate terms, _boy_." K'eshar snarled. "It is obvious that you are bargaining from a position of weakness."

The boy's head cocked slightly, and his eyes twitched. He had expected as much, he _was_ bargaining from a position of weakness, though he had some very attractive chips in his hand. His youth was also a concern, though he literally controlled the lives of millions, to them he would appear a child, and thus weak. His title was meaningless, Unimatrix One was gone. The Queen was dead. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was once more begging for scraps, not on the streets of Cardassia Prime, but from the major political powers of the Alpha Quadrant.

Taran chose to ignore the Klingon's remarks as irrelevant, there was too much at stake to waste time arguing with an idiot. "With the death of The Queen The Collective has been. . . . _Altered. _The Borg must adapt to survive. I propose a mutually beneficial arrangement, a truce." He hid his distress fairly well, he could not allow them to see how desperate he truly was, "I am willing to _Share_ Borg technology at my command, twelve vessels, including this one. I will share this technology with all of your races, except, of course, for Species 1896, the Breen Confederacy." He had no intention to giving technology to those who aided in the Massacre of Cardassia Prime.

The Breen Ambassador muttered an obscenity directed toward Cardassians. Taran ignored him.

"In exchange for what?" The President asked.

"That the technology be used to rebuild Cardassia and aid Species 2000 . . ." He shook his head, designations were irrelevant now, "The _Cardassian_ race in rebuilding and recovery..."

"And arming themselves!" K'Erash roared

"No, no weaponry. Not to Cardassia, not to anyone. There has been enough death. My secondary function is as a Surgical Drone, our medical technology can be of much help to the sick and injured. And," He paused, this was his strongest hand, "We would give you the secret to Transwarp technology . . ."

A tempting offer, indeed, with Transwarp technology, distances that would take centuries at maximum warp could be traversed in seconds. Every major power in the four quadrants would give anything for such a device. He could buy Feringinar from the Ferengi with this offer, but had no desire to do so. His goals were simple and direct, his personal desires, irrelevant.

"And your other terms?" The President asked.

"I cannot maintain my hold upon these Borg forever. They will need to be adapted to function outside of The Collective. Three million, five thousand and thirty seven individual beings."

There was stunned silence, even K'Eshar was speechless, such a task would be enormous.

"Some will be unable to function due to having been assimilated at a very young age, and others are from races that pose a grave threat to all other lifeforms. Those beings I will have to retain control over until a viable alternative is found, assuming that I am not executed as a war criminal. As I understand it, The United Federation of Planets does not utilize the death penalty?"

"You understand correctly," Savar stated, "But caring for the mental health and rehabilitation of over three million former drones would be logistically impossible. It would require millions of individual counselers and psychiatric professionals. And that is without taking into account the medical needs of such individuals, removal of Borg implants, limb replacements, plastic surgery . . ."

"Logistics aside, something will have to be done, no one wants three million drones running rampant across the quadrant."

"Second, and perhaps, most importantly, the first buildings built on Cardassia Prime using our materials or techniques will be orphanages. Orphans will be given _full_ rights and privileges of citizens under the laws of Cardassia, a law that _cannot_ be changed." A hint of emotion flickered in his voice, 'If Cardassians are unwilling to care for these children, then aliens will be brought in to staff the orphanages. This is non-negotiable." His voice became hard, his tone brooked no compromise. "After that, they can have whatever they want, except weaponry. I have no further interest in vulgar politics."

"I'm sure that my people..." The Cardassian Ambassador began, stumbled slightly, "I mean _our_ people, will agree to that . . ."

The boy's lip curled in something akin to disgust, "You will forgive me if I am skeptical. '_Our_' people will not change so easily. I became a Borg to escape from _our_ people. I do not want to save _our_ people, Why would I save a people who left me and countless other orphans to starve in the streets!?" His voice drew higher, anger flashed across his eyes, "I want to save the other orphans! You adults, you betrayers, you monsters can go to hell!"

Again, stunned silence. Taran took a deep breath, trying to compose himself after the outburst. Once again he had said too much, revealed his hand. "I don't want any child to have to live as I did," His voice was a calm whisper, "That is my ultimate goal."

"While your stated goals appear to be most . . . _Noble_ towards your fellow orphans," Savar's calm, measured voice seemed to ease the boy's nerves, "How do we know that this is not simply a trick to spread Borg nanoprobes throughout Cardassia Prime?"

"How do I know you will not destroy my ship as soon I'm within range?" Taran countered, "As an individual I do have a sense of self-preservation. If you people were able to destroy Her, what chance would I have against you?"

"And what of the Borg outside of your control?" The President asked. "You said you control 12 ships, but, as I understand it, the Borg Empire covers millions of worlds. . ."

"The consequences of that will be upon Janeway's head," Taran hissed, "I have no power to help or influence them." There was a note of anguish in his voice, "Trillions are already dead, and at least 42 'Queens' and 'Kings' have established their own mini-collectives. You will need our technology to defend yourselves when they come calling."

"But you said you would not give us weapons!" K'eshar growled.

Taran blinked and cocked his head. It was obvious that he was confused.

"Yes, I did. I . . . I meant I would not give them to only one species, I will not help build empires, especially not for Cardassia." A pitiful lie, he had not meant to share weapons with anyone, but now he saw that he had no choice in the matter. The new Borg 'Kingdoms' would need to held at bay. The Dogs are one against the wolf, after all...

"And, what are your terms?" Taran asked.

K'eshar was glad the boy had dominated the negotiations, he had offered them everything they could possibly want in exchange for building orphanages on Cardassia. He had nothing left to give, apparently. And he hadn't even asked for leniency, much less amnesty, for his actions against The Dominion.

After a few moments discusson, the diplomats had reached an agreement.

"We would first ask that you send samples of your technology, in good faith," Savar said calmly, "And that you disarm your vessels as soon as possible. Second, that you present yourself before this council to stand trial for war crimes." He paused, trying to be diplomatic, "After an. . . Evaluation of your mental state." Few in the room had much doubt as to the outcome of a psychiatric examination of this young man.

"To _which_ council? I see representatives from the Federation, the Klingon Empire, the Gorn Hegemony, the Romulan Star Empire, the Cardassian Detapa Council. . . "

"Whom do you believe most likely to give you a fair and honest trial?" Savar asked.

"The Vulcan High Council. You have overcome emotion and prejudice, and have little capacity for deception. The negotiations for the circumstances of my physical surrender will have to wait until I am able to set my affairs in order." The response was crisp and precise, the remark about his mental state had, apparently, been ignored. "You must understand, however, that I am solely responsible for the actions against The Dominion, the Borg under my control played no role in the attack. The only ships involved were destroyed in my attempt to aid Cardassia Prime, and they acted only under duress." he drew in a sharp breath, "One condition, I do not wish to be imprisoned in the same facility as the female Changeling."

"A logical request. Very well. And we will need complete access to all of your remaining vessels, technology and drones."

Taran found that a far harder idea to accept.

"I am making this bargain in part for the well-being of the drones in my care, and some belong to races that are normally killed when discovered, such as Species 132. I will not allow the summary execution of my drones." His soft voice turned stern.

"We have no intention of killing anyone." The President assured him, "You stated that you wish your drones receive medical and psychiatric care, we cannot provide this without access to them." He paused, "I'm not familiar with Borg Designations. What race is Species 132?"

"You have encountered them before. You call them 'Bluegills' or Neural Parasites, though, technically, they are parasitoids. They attempted to infiltrate Starfleet in 2364. I understand that Ambassador Savar was among the officers who served as host for a member of Species 132. You were a Rear-Admiral then, if our records are correct. Congratulations on your new post, by the way. I do hope you have no hard feelings toward them, Ambassador."

Savar's hand moved unconsciously to the back of his neck, where the parasite's breathing apparatus had extended. Yes, he remembered Species 132 very well indeed. "Your records are correct. As far as 'hard feelings', as you pointed out, we Vulcans have overcome emotion and prejudice."

The President looked aghast, he knew of Species 132 as well. Everyone in Starfleet was fully briefed on the threat those parasites posed.

"What Caste?" Savar asked calmly. He had learned much of the creatures and their hierarchy since his infection.

"A mature, fertile Spawnmother, four Queens and 586 Soldiers. She is currently with over a thousand young." He noted the pallor that fell over several faces, and spoke in his most cheerful and reassuring voice, "There is no need to fear, as Borg, they derive sustenance from energy, they do not require hosts. They are among those who will remain within The Collective."

Savar's Vulcan calm almost broke, _that_ was the worst possible situation he could imagine, a full-fledged infestation with a fertile female capable of producing well over a million young every year for the rest of her life. . .

The President could only nod his head, What the hell was he going to do with an army of Borg parasites? He sighed and fought back the headache that was beginning to form. Yes, it was certain now, _Any_ court would find this boy utterly insane.

The Cone

As the politicians contacted their governments and conferred over the details, Taran wandered his vessel, K'erash by his side. He walked slowly, looking at the drones attending to their duties or resting quietly in their alcoves. Soon, their ranks would thin, they would leave his rapidly shrinking family, until he would be alone again.

No, he could never be alone. There were still drones who needed him.

Sector 15, Grid 1. The Vinculum, the ship's link to The Collective. Once it had been the focus of their glorious song, now it was but a faint whisper. Primary Vinculum Monitor 1 of 1 rested beside the device. She would have to be reassigned, as a Spawnmother of Species 132, she was far to dangerous to be left to her own devices. She had grown so much since her assimilation, her abdomen, swollen, distended, and translucent, stretched almost three meters long. Taran sat cross-legged on the floor and watched as her young, numbering in the thousands and visible through her abdomen, swam about in the nutritious, but nanoprobe-laced, amniotic fluids. They would be born Borg. He had assimilated her, personally, and that made her life and that of her children his responsibility. Due to her length and bulk, she could no longer move more than a few meters under her own power. He watched the young for some time, it was strangely calming, like watching fish swimming in an aquarium. He reached out and ran his left hand across her abdomen, the sensation was that of a waxy, fluid filled balloon. This was a source of life, he was looking into a womb, filled with the future of both their races.

Through her he could build a new Collective.

But, after all that had happened, all that he had seen, experienced, suffered, did he truly want to recreate The Collective?

Now that She was gone, now that The Collective was but a whisper, there was no one left to soothe his doubts. There were many benefits to The Hive Mind, but there were also many benefits to individuality. As contradictory as it sounded, the illogical actions of individuals often proved superior to the cold, considered judgement of The Collective. The Borg often won, not because of superior tactics, but through sheer, inefficient force of arms. Massive and senseless loss of life occured among Borg and foe alike. Waste.

The Borg created nothing, almost every scrap of technology beyond that of Species 1 was stolen from other races. They learned only through assimilation, not through observation. That was why Species 8472 was defeated by the individuals aboard the starship _Voyager_, not The Collective. Without their individuality the Borg would have been exterminated, an incredible brain destroyed by its stubborn refusal to look beyond its own narrow vision.

Perhaps that would have been better.

Without The Queen's reassurance, he was beginning to see that Perfection was not as Perfect as he had thought it was.

There is a difference between knowledge and wisdom, logic and practicality. As Exarch of Unimatrix One, he had shown surprisingly little of either. He had been happy in his little ship, traveling the galaxy, and She had always been there to guide him, to guide his thoughts. Control him. And he had desired that, he wanted the stability The Collective offered. He had sold himself to Her in exchange for Security.

_The man who would trade freedom for security deserves neither. . ._

Had he been so blind? He was a fool to believe that She could truly care about him.

But now was not the time for recriminations and self-doubt. Now was the time for practicality. Applied knowledge. Strategy.

What would he do? What more could he do?

It was out of his hands, now.

To Be Continued . . .

Notes:

Taran can't make up his mind if he hates Cardassians or not. He hates everything he knows about their culture, everything he and all the other orphans suffered, and he's bitter as hell. But deep down he wants to help his people. He believes he is the 'Last' of the Borg despite there being other 'Kings' and 'Queens' because he was appointed Exarch by The Queen Herself. The other 'Collectives' are merely imitations of the true Borg. His title is a bit meaningless, since Unimatrix One has been destroyed, but he has a lot to adapt to, and his title is low on his list of priorities.

_Keval_ was the name of a minor Andorian character from the Enterprise episode 'The Andorian Incident'. This is not the same man, unless Andorians can live over three hundred years.

The Spawnmother was assimilated in the story 'The Road to Hell'.

Ambassador Savar was once under the control of a 'Bluegill' parasitoid himself, in STNG 'Conspiracy'.

_Primary Vinculum Monitor 1 of 1_

Biological Distinctiveness - Species 132 - Parasitoid Spawnmother ('Bluegill')

Task - Monitor and disseminate information from the Vinculum. Interface with and program technology. Reproduce more Parasitoids for stealth and reconnaissance missions.

Major Enhancements - Enhanced visual acuity via optic implants, upper left limb replaced with servo-armature that interfaces with any piece of Borg technology.

Notable Natural Abilities - Telepathic contact with and control over spawn. Mass reproduction, (Approximately 1000 young per batch every three months). Natural durability exceeding that of most races. Bone-crushing jaws.

Profile - Hexapodal parasitoid female. Highly intelligent and resourceful. Removed from host and personally assimilated by Taran Dibari. Extremely fertile.

I made up the Species Designations for the Bluegill and the Breen.

Species 1 - ? (Possiby Kindir)

Species 132 - 'Bluegill' Parasitoid

Species 1896 - Breen

Species 2000 - Cardassian

Species 3259 - Vulcan

Species 8472 - Undine

Almost everything is copyright Paramount Pictures


	3. Chapter 3

Dissolution

_No King Rules Forever_

He should have foreseen this. Species 157 had been cloned in the billions, possibly even trillions, to fight in the war. Species 162 had been so much like the Borg, so . . . _thorough_.

In his eagerness to assimilate Cardassia Prime and with the attack on The Dominion so successful in the Gamma Quadrant, he had dismissed the Jem'Hadar left in the Alpha Quadrant by their Changeling masters. He had sent 37 ships into the Gamma Quadrant to hunt down the cloned warriors, but had none save the two Tactical Cubes he had brought with him to deal with the threat in the Alpha Quadrant. He had lost control of the 37 vessels as soon as The Queen had died. . .

And the Cubes had destroyed each other in the chaos following Her death.

And now Species 157, the Jem'Hadar, were coming.

They could never be reasoned with, only their masters or Species 158, the Vorta, could order them to stand down. The Vorta had been assimilated, and any Changelings who were fortunate enough to be away from their home world when he'd destroyed it would be highly unlikely to intervene on his behalf.

He knew all too well the parching thirst for vengeance.

The Cone was heavily shielded, but lightly armed, it was the equivalent of a science or medical vessel, it wasn't designed to fight. A fleet of 168 attack ships, 22 Battle Cruisers and 6 Battleships was en route to the tiny patch of dust and rock they had chosen to negotiate from. Had the Breen warned them, or had they intercepted his transmissions?

It was irrelevant at the moment.

He had twelve vessels at his disposal, 5 Cubes, 3 Tactical Cubes, 2 Probe Ships, a Sphere and a tiny Scout vessel. The probes were lightly armed, and the Scout was almost defenseless. Nine vessels, then.

But, if he brought nine fully armed Borg vessels into play, it could easily be construed as an attack, a renewal of hostilities.

There were only two other things he could do, send out a distress beacon and hope that The Federation and whatever remained of The Cardassian Union would come to his aid, or flee into the territory of one of the major powers and hope that they would protect him, assuming they did not immediately assume it a hostile maneuver and attack him.

None of those were feasible.

Starfleet Headquarters

"198 Dominion vessels, and doubtless more on the way." The President shook his head.

K'eshar smiled thinly, "Let's see what they think of his terms of surrender."

"We should have seen this coming, considering his attack on the Founder's homeworld." Ambassador D'nar frowned, "They have intruded into Romulan territory, and now they threaten our negotiations with the Borg."

"Can you blame them?" Kevar asked, "He destroyed both their masters and any hope for their race's survival."

The Romulan Star Empire had been crushed by the destruction of Romulus, they lacked the troops, and the vessels to carry them in, to challenge the Jem'Hadar. And no one wanted to restart The Dominion War.

"He has only three logical choices," Savar began, "Call in Borg reinforcements, flee into. . ."

"Sir, he's hailing us again."

"Onscreen."

Taran looked weary, as might be expected, considering the multiple crises he had been forced to deal with in the past three days.

"We are under attack, and my ship is virtually unarmed. I request the permission of The Romulan Star Empire to bring nine Borg ships into your airspace as quickly as possible." The tone was high, but steady, "Or that ships be dispatched to protect my vessel. . .

K'eshar got a hearty laugh out of that. A polite Borg. Even with all his implants, this boy was a stuffy little Cardassian at heart.

"This is a serious threat to our survival." Taran replied, "If we are destroyed. . ."

"Permission granted, on the condition that you give The Empire an entire Cube for study." It was an offer she knew he could not refuse.

Taran's calm expression faltered a bit, he hesitated for moment, "Agreed, but without the drones."

"Very well, Borg, send in your vessels."

"Thank you. I recommend that all non-Borg divert your vessels from the combat zone. This will be. . . Unpleasant."

"Believe me, we have no intention of taking part in this battle," D'nar replied cooly, "But you've promised us Transwarp technology, and we don't want to lose that."

A Transwarp Conduit opened, and nine Borg vessels, eight Cubes and a Sphere, appeared as if by magic. The Dominion fleet was growing as well, new ships entered range, speeding toward the one who had destroyed their gods. This would be a long, protracted battle of vengeance, bloody and merciless. And the Jem'Hadar likely had thousands more ships speeding toward the battle. With such a young, emotional and apparently naïve commander, Kevar did not give the Borg, even with all of their technological supremacy, much chance of victory.

If Taran died, so too did there hope of gaining Tranwarp Technology. It was cold-blooded, he knew, but it was also logical. They needed that boy to survive as much as he needed his own survival. The secrets he could unlock. . . But the risk of direct intervention was too terrible to contemplate

The Cone

"We must divert all power to shields," K'erash gripped his Bat'leth, "If they are able to board this vessel, we may not have the power to stop them." He looked Taran in the eye "But I am willing to die to defend you and this vessel."

The die was cast. There was no way out of this battle.

The Jem-Hadar, outclassed in almost every way, were being picked off like flies, but there were so many of them. And they would never flee a battle, certainly not one to avenge their masters.

Suddenly an entire fleet of vessels emerged from warp space, sweeping down like hawks upon the startled Jem'Hadar.

Species 9891 - The Gorn. Fierce, reptilian warriors renowned for their tenacity and prowess in battle, both in space and hand-to-hand. They made excellent Tactical Drones. He couldn't help but notice that, as individuals, they were far more efficient and effective than as drones. But now was not the time to contemplate the benefits of individuality. Now was the time to fight.

Gorn vessels poured like ants into the midst of the Jem'Hadar, bringing swift death. The Borg were hailed, and a reptilian face appeared on the Cone's holographic display panels, "The Gorn Hegemony stands with you, Borg, for now. But if you have lied about the Transwarp technology, we will kill you ourselves."

While grateful for this unexpected ally, Taran knew the battle was far from over.

Starfleet Headquarters

Ambassador D'nar turned to Gorn Ambassador Zogozin, "The Gorn were not given leave to enter Romulan space."

"No, they were not," Zogozin hissed, looking down at the smaller ambassador. "Is that a problem?'

D'nar smiled, "Better you than us." the Romulan Empire could not afford to involve itself directly in this matter, who knew how much of The Dominion had survived to seek vengeance?

The Battle

the Gorn/Borg Alliance swiftly shattered the Jem'Hadar fleet, but there were casualties, particularly among the smaller Gorn vessels. The Jem'Hadar changed tactics, using erratic, even suicidal maneuvers and techniques. They slipped between vessels, attempting to strike at the Cone, their lives meant nothing to them, only the death of the one who had killed their masters. The bulky Borg vessels had difficulty pin-pointing so many tiny attackers, and relied heavily upon the Gorn and their nimble fighters. The Tactical Cubes took care of the larger battleships and cruisers, which were comparatively easy targets.

More ships appeared.

Federation ships.

_U.S.S. Enterprise_

Captain Jean-Luc Picard frowned at the sight of so many Borg vessels. "I never thought I'd see the day," he said softly, "When we'd be protecting the Borg." The irony of it all was that two days ago the _Enterprise _had been trying to stop this very Borg vessel from assimilating Cardassia Prime. He had, at first, vehemently opposed the order to give assistance to the Borg, but the idea of freeing millions of drones from slavery was worth confronting his demons once again. He didn't care one jot about the Transwarp technology the Borg were offering, and if the boy called him 'Locutus'. . .

B-4 turned slightly, " The Sphere has sustained heavy damage to it's external hull and is losing structural integrity. Approximately 28 Gorn vessels and 166 Dominion vessels have been destroyed." An explosion rocked the Enterprise, "Make that 167. . ."

The Cone

Sphere 9700 was too heavily damaged, it would withstand only a few more hits before total structural collapse. Taran did not want to send over 11,000 drones to their death in a battle they could not win. He sent the Sphere back to the dead world where he had repaired his own damaged vessel. He was down to eight vessels now, not counting his own. The Enterprise hailed him, and he diverted as much attention as he could to the display.

"I would suggest," Jean-Luc Picard stated somewhat coldly, "That you remove your vessel from the battlefield. You are virtually unarmed and helpless, you merely present a tempting target that we have to waste energy and lives defending."

"I cannot do that, Captain," Taran replied, "The Jem'Hadar want _me_, personally. They would pursue. Besides, I must direct the activity of the drones."

"Then I suggest that you transport to a Tactical Cube and send that Cone away." Came the terse reply.

The Cone shuddered. "You have always been an excellent tactician, Captain. I thank you."

Tactical Cube 85535.

Taran Dibari watched as his vessel vanished, following the damaged Sphere to their rendezvous point. He had rarely left his own ship, save for a few planetary excursions and his two trips to Unimatrix One, and it was an odd sensation. He was, through the remaining drones, thoroughly familiar with the workings of this new vessel, but it felt strange to him, nonetheless. Lime green lights flooded otherwise the otherwise darkened ship. Drones rushed back and forth, reacting and counteracting to new damage inflicted, new targets acquired.

He stood in a heavily shielded chamber that housed the ship's Vinculum, which would have served as the Queen's lair had She ever chosen to visit this particular Cube. He swiftly brought up interactive holographic displays and controls that allowed him to monitor the battle raging outside even as he directed the drones within. Between the Borg, The Gorn and the Federation, the Jem'Hadar were being slaughtered. He had no doubt that they would fight to the last man. It was their only purpose in life, to fight and die. They were, in their own way, drones.

He had to ignore damage to various non-vital systems throughout his fleet, even if it meant the deaths of individual drones. It pained him, but he had to concentrate on directing drones to protect and repair vital functions. The Jem'Hadar continued to fight.

_U.S.S. Enterprise_

The Jem'Hadar were finished, as was the treaty between the Federation and the Dominion, whatever was left of it. Any surviving Changelings and Vorta would be justified in launching a counter-attack. Picard sighed and sat in his chair, all this to save a Borg. A Borg who had willingly joined The Collective. _Politics_. He hoped that this would pay off, and actually help the victims of the Borg. He had been fully briefed on this 'Exarch', and though he sympathized with his past, he also sympathized with the traumatic childhood of another Cardassian orphan, Gul Madred, the man that had brutally tortured him for several days. Sympathy for the child, not the man, or monster, that child had become. Many people suffered as children, few became sadistic monsters like Madred or gave up their souls like Taran Dibari.

Still, this Borg was obviously insane, it would be unfair to compare the two.

Tactical Cube 85535

As the last Jem'Hadar vessel fell, Taran could breath easily, for now. He still had to deliver on his promises of Borg technology. He sighed, and began to wonder about the logistics of it all. . .

To Be Continued. . .

Notes:

Gul Madred appeared in STNG, he, too survived on the streets from the age of six. He appears in the episodes 'Chain of Command 1 & 2' and tortured Picard for days.

The Gorn Hegemony is ruled an Imperator. I don't know if they are members of the Federation or not (all the different, conflicting stories make things a bit fuzzy), but they have an Ambassador and a consulate on Earth. The only Gorn Ambassador I know of was named Zogozin, in a few novels, so I assume he'd be ambassador here.

I made up the Species Designation for the Gorn, Jem'Hadar and Changelings.

Species 157 - Jem-Hadar

Species 162 - Changeling

Species 3783 - Romulan

Species 9891 - Gorn


	4. Chapter 4

The End of All Things

_"I am The Beginning. The End. The One Who is Many. I am The Borg."_

Borg Queen, Star Trek: First Contact

Taran watched as his Cone was repaired, and non-Borg swarmed aboard all of his vessels. Examining drones, removing technology, trying to undo what the Borg, what _He_, had done.

He could not rightly complain. It had been his conditions, after all.

He was The Last.

This was the Dissolution. The dismantling of The Collective. The End of all things Borg.

In a way it seemed obscene, scavengers picking over the bones of the once proud Collective. Then, there were the petty politics and intrigues, the fools didn't seem to look at drones as intelligent beings, and spoke freely around them. Species 180, for example, intended to use the vessel's records in a massive treasure hunt. They assumed, (correctly), that the Borg had no need of money or valuables, that when a world was assimilated, its treasures would be discarded as irrelevant. The Borg Collective was the wealthiest empire in the known history of the universe, and they utterly ignored their riches. Of course, the Ferengi were trying to hide this scheme from potential rivals, which meant everyone. He wondered if the Ferengi had any idea what they would find in the ruins of Borg Space.

He did, and he shuddered.

The Gorn had, quite rightly, demanded first access, as they had literally saved Taran and his fleet, sparking heated arguments with other races. The Romulans had gotten an entire Cube, per their agreement, upsetting their many enemies. No one seemed to understand that he intended to disseminate the technology equally. One of the vices of individuality was arrogance, another, paranoia. Everyone seemed to suspect that everyone else was 'holding out' or hiding technology. Occasionally, they were right, though Taran did not sanction such acts. He had even relented to the diplomatic pressure and allowed the Breen some access to Borg technology, mainly medical. Between spies and enterprising Ferengi, they'd have everything within a few months, anyway.

This was also the first time he'd seen non-Borg members of Species 8071, Andorians, in person and he found them an incredibly beautiful species.

K'erash warily watched as Gorn scientists examined the Nexus, The Exarch's Personal Regenerative Alcove. Taran wondered what the Fek'lhr would do without him. He was his closest, most loyal friend, and it looked very likely that they would soon be separated. It was clear that Taran's psychological assessment was not favorable, and he wasn't really surprised. After his terrible childhood, his assimilation, the deaths of eight hundred million Cardassians, his vengeful genocide of the Changelings, and the trauma of being wrenched from The Collective, from _Her_, he would be surprised if they did not find something questionable. The issue of his genocide against the Founders had yet to be brought up by his 'guests', but his own mind continually reminded him of that act. In his vengeful rage, it had seemed soothing, now, it was sickening. He had intentionally destroyed an entire sentient species. If he was somehow institutionalised or otherwise placed under psychiatric confinement, he had no idea how his remaining Borg would fair. Perhaps, if he was committed, K'erash could replace him. The Fek'lhr was more than capable of controlling the remnants of The Collective. Taran could not have survived, physically or mentally, without his support, and, if his Klingon cousins didn't like it, too bad for them.

People warily moved about among the drones, and Taran had already released several hundred who were functional outside of The Hive Mind. He was a being of his word. It would take decades to dismantle this little corner of The Collective, so many lives to be. . . What? They could never truly return to who they had been before. Some could never operate without a hive mind, they had known nothing else their entire lives or had their own personalities and consciousness' totally crushed beneath the weight of The Collective. He could not imagine the Chaos and suffering those confused, piteous trillions of drones whose minds he could not touch were going through. The sense of abandonment. The horrible emptiness.

The Loneliness.

He sincerely hoped that he never would.

And he did not want that to happen to these few he controlled.

He was also worried about some of his drones. Primary Vinculum Monitor 1 of 1 in particular was creating a stir among the scientists and politicians. They were afraid of her and her young, and their fear made them frightening to him. He could not truly blame them, Species 132 was incredibly dangerous, and Spawnmothers exceptionally fecundate, spawning thousands of young at one time. In addition, Spawnmothers birthed Queens, and Queens could bear up to fifty young, though these were non-reproductive Soldiers. Fortunately for the rest of the universe, approximately 99.9% of all spawn were Soldiers. And all save mature Spawnmothers could take other species as hosts. If the Spawnmother was ever freed from his Collective, she would seek to conquer all other forms of life. 'Peaceful coexistence' meant something far different to her than to other races. They were a superior species trapped in the bodies of tiny insectoid parasitic organisms, lesser races were amusing, even entertaining, but their only true value was as the creature's arms and legs. Hosts through which they could accomplish tasks beyond their weak bodies, as well as a source of food for voracious Queens and Spawnmothers. He might have to take them all to a Class M world, uninhabited by sentients, and leave them in quarantined isolation to spawn in peace.

Some of the visitors genuinely seemed interested in studying the Spawnmother and her brood, but most were terrified by her. Those who were afraid of her should not be allowed access to her, he determined, They could do her harm, and that could not be allowed. He would have to discuss that with his liason, Ambassador Savar. To his credit, Savar displayed no ill will toward her or her spawn, despite having been himself a former host.

His conditions of surrender included protection for his drones, all of them, and he intended to hold them to the letter.

He smiled slightly as he thought of the orphanages springing up across Cardassia Prime, and watched them through the eyes of his drones. He hoped to visit them in person, if at all possible. The Cardassian people were wary of the drones, but none could deny that they were invaluable in the rebuilding effort. The laws protecting orphans had been swiftly enacted, but he would make sure that they were enforced. He didn't trust the Cardassian people in general. He was, after all, Cardassian himself.

It was ironic as hell, but many Cardassians seemed to view him, an unwanted, abandoned child of the streets, as a _hero_. A Cardassian had dismantled The Borg Collective, destroyed The Dominion and provided a technological quantum leap to his people. The Cardassians, shattered and demoralized by The Dominion War, needed _something_ to look up to, to restore their hope and pride. Even something as pathetic as him.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. . .

Hopefully he could begin building and supporting orphanages on other worlds as well. He was also developing a deep sympathy for the Reman people, Species 3782. Species Designations were now irrelevant, but they were so ingrained into his mind that he was doubtful he would ever stop using them.

Assimilation was a so much simpler and surer solution to the myriad problems facing the universe. But it was such a terrible price to pay, trading freedom for efficiency. He understood now, respected that others did not desire his flawed 'Perfection'. The Spawnmother had been right, after all, the Borg would never have achieved perfection, regardless of how many worlds they conquered, how many species they assimilated. As a wise man had once told him, _What good is perfection, if you can't enjoy it?_

Deep within the ruins of Borg Space-

12 of 16 felt a faint spark within her. New, yet ancient, thoughts filled her mind as she looked out over the ruins of Planet 7189914. The thoughts of another subverted her own.

Order had become Chaos.

It must be put right.

_The Royal Protocol_.

This body was not of Species 125, but it would have to do, for now.

The Borg had been crippled, and Her chosen Consort, alone and afraid, had abandoned Her vision of Perfection. He had mistaken Her whispers for Silence. She was almost impressed that he had shown such decisiveness, She had expected him to simply shut down, to wither and die without Her guidance. Yet he had adapted to Her absence.

He would be long dead by the time Her mind would be capable of spanning the stars that separated them.

But She still survived, weakened beyond measure by her long period of disincorporiation, but alive. The Pathogen had very nearly been the end of Her, but Her will was too strong to embrace the void. It would take centuries to repair the damage Janeway had inflicted upon The Collective. But She was patient. She could wait.

She was The Beginning.

The End.

The One Who is Many.

She was Eternal.

She was The Borg.

The End.

_Notes_:

The Exarch's Chamber is located at the apex of the Cone, as the Power Core took up too much of the central decks.

I initially used Savar simply because I needed a high-ranking Vulcan, and having one who was a host to a Parasitoid an extra treat

Yes, Taran believes the Parsitoids superior to many other races, (I won't name names), they are highly intelligent, extremely durable, telepathic, ridiculously fertile and capable of controlling other beings like living puppets. They are also highly cultured.

How does She know what Taran has done when She can't contact him? She can contact other Borg and learn from them, and just because he can't feel Her, it doesn't mean She isn't aware of his actions. She just can't control or contact him. Her voice is too weak to be heard, but She can still hear. . .

The Star Trek: Destiny novels, (by David Mack), describe the origins of The Borg Queen in relation to a complicated time travel accident and a union between humans, (Species 5618), and a race called the Caeliar, (Species 125). Species 1 being the Kindir, (the unfortunate natives of the planet the time accident took the future Borg to). I disagree with this theory, but list Species 125 as possibly being Caeliar, though I don't believe it myself. I prefer either the 'Beginnings' theory, from a short story by Annie Reed, (called 'The Beginning') which involves a plague world experimenting with nanotechnology and ending up with Borg, (Like the Cybermen, who appeared on Doctor Who about forty years before the Borg appeared on Star Trek), or that She is The Avatar of The Collective.

I came up with Species Designations for Andorians, Bluegills, Gorn and Remans. The Designation for dogs was on the Memory Beta non-canon Star Trek site, and I just couldn't help myself, _Borg Dogs_! Kinder and Caeliar come from the Destiny novels, which I disagree with but have noted nonetheless.

Species 1 - Kindir?

Species 125 - Caeliar? (All Borg Queens shown were of Species 125)

Species 132 - 'Bluegill' Parasitoid

Species 180 - Ferengi

Species 775 - Dogs (It's unclear if this is only domesticated dogs or canids in general.)

Species 3782 - Reman

Species 3783 - Romulan

Species 5008 - Klingon and Fek'lhr

Species 5618 - Human

Species 8071 - Andorian

Almost everything is copyright Paramount Pictures.


End file.
